


The Dead Things We Carry

by ivorygraves



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 22:21:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5181803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorygraves/pseuds/ivorygraves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what Richie knows of eternity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dead Things We Carry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosweldrmr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosweldrmr/gifts).



"He takes her in his arms.  
He wants to say I love you, nothing can hurt you

but he thinks  
that is a lie, so he says in the end  
you’re dead, nothing can hurt you which seems to him  
a more promising beginning, more true."  
**—** Louise Glück, _A Myth of Devotion_

* * *

This is what Richie knows of eternity.

“Richie,” Kate says. In his embrace, she quivers, so tiny, so small —

Her mouth licks prayers onto his tongue, and he pretends to know the words. Her hands cup his face and her smile is so bright he feels himself turning to ash underneath her.

 _I killed him_ , he thinks. _I killed him for you._

Kate gazes back, like an expansive sea waiting to swallow him. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she asks. “I’m already gone, Richie.”

He trembles so hard he feels his dead heart beat, just once, a phantom limb reminding him of what it means to feel alive. And there is so much he could say to that — endless footnotes and annotations marking his failures, his folly, his frayed nerves and fragile ego — but it all seems like excuses. In the wake of her tender touch, the one the real her died never giving, he tells her the only truth he knows. “You’re so pretty. I’m sorry I never told you.”

Kate, or the memory of Kate, smiles sadly.

And there is something in him that uproots itself when he sees it. The way her hips seek his, her auburn hair falling like a curtain over her face, eyes shutting so softly he almost forgets she’s dead and not drifting off to sleep.

Kate is dead. She died hating him.

This is the only truth he knows.

“Fuck,” he curses, and everything breaks. She fragments and shatters and he still feels her lips like the first time she kissed him in the Twister. It makes him ache with want and guilt at the same time.

And like a child, Richie knows nothing of letting go.

* * *

This is what Richie knows of holding on.

His brother’s seething, wounded face, his split lip and blood pooling up like a well. The swift crack of a fist against his jaw.

Richie misses Uncle Eddie so intensely in that moment he feels something reach inside him and twist.

“She was a fucking _kid_ ,” Seth says, and Richie can’t entirely tell if he’s talking to him or not.

“I miss her too,” Richie says solemnly. It’s the first time he’s let himself grieve openly in his brother’s presence.

Seth holds up a hand while the other wipes the blood off his face. “Save it,” he sneers. “Let’s just get the job done, okay?” It’s business as always, and to anyone else, that would be the end of it.

But Richie knows his brother better than anyone, and Seth’s never been good at hiding his hurt. No mirrors or movie star masks can erase this.

“I didn’t even want to _be_ here,” Seth continues. His shoulders bow in a mockery of supplication. “I didn’t want _any_ of this.”

“Door’s still open,” Richie tells him.

Seth looks up at him and Richie can almost feel the fire of it, like the one he set to kill their father. “No,” he says darkly. “You know it has to be this way.”

“Didn’t figure you one for prophecy, brother.”

“Not fucking _prophecy_ ,” Seth says. “I’m not gonna sit here and spill my guts out for a guy who —”

“It’s what she would’ve wanted,” Richie cuts in. “Us on the same side.” _She was so happy_ , he wants to tell Seth. _She heard we were working together again and she told me God kept bringing us back together._

But he doesn’t say any of that.

And all at once, the fight leaves Seth. “Yeah.”

“All hail the kings,” Richie says quietly.

* * *

Eternity is different for everyone. He learns this lesson early.

For Santanico, it is a place. It is a man.

He remembers what it felt like to love her. Or at least, what it felt like to want to love her.

He thinks of the lesson she tried to teach him, and how he rejected it. “We have to let go of who were were to become who we are,” she said.

She tried to mold him. Not into a slave, or a soldier, but his own protector. She fashioned him a sword and armor made of warnings and he tossed them away like they were nothing.

She wanted him to shed his skin, because it would hurt too much otherwise. She wanted to set him free.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him before she leaves. Her eyes carry ghosts and dead things. Like she’s thinking of something, of someone else. “About the girl.”

There’s pity there, a solidarity so sharp it cuts to the bone. “Kate,” is all he can say.

“Kate,” Santanico repeats. She does not try to comfort him, or tell him it isn’t his fault.

He appreciates her mercy.

* * *

For Richie, eternity is a memory. It is a girl.

* * *

“She’s gone,” Scott tells him the day after they’ve spread Carlos across the four corners of the world.

Richie raises an eyebrow. He tries not to sound like a dick, but he knows he will anyway. “I was there.”

Scott’s breath hitches so subtly Richie almost thinks he’s imagining it. But the look of pure hatred on his face makes him realize his error. “Her _body_ ,” he spits. “I went to go bury her and _my sister’s body is gone._ ”

And the hope that flares up in his chest is so quick, so tempting, he has to squash it down. Hope is dangerous, he tells himself. Hope is like forgiveness with teeth.

Forgiveness is something he’ll have to live without.

* * *

“What does it feel like?” she asks him.

“What does what feel like?” Richie says.

The memory of Kate looks up at him and there’s nothing bright about her. “To know someone came back from the dead for you.” Her eyes are empty, hollow things.

And then they fill with blood.

* * *

Richie wakes up and still sees her in his mind’s eye.

He pretends he can’t hear her voice. A moment, fluttering, like a moth in shadows.


End file.
